


Fledgling

by lacemonster



Series: Lacemonster's Gifts [3]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Animal Abuse, Clone Sex, Dark, M/M, Marking, Mental Health Issues, Rutting, Self-Harm, Selfcest, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-07 03:28:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20302717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacemonster/pseuds/lacemonster
Summary: A 2k+ request for "Damian selfcest"Damian is forced to confront his former self—the boy he was before he was Robin. Physically matched in every way, the hardest part of this battle isn't just a match of strengths, but confronting some old truths.





	Fledgling

**Author's Note:**

> I did this story as a request for Damian selfcest. I rated this as mature since all that "technically" happens is a fight, but this most definitely is sexually undercharged fic.
> 
> The story focuses on Robin!Damian and his younger self, so it's most definitely underage. This fic also has a lot of metaphors for self-harm and mental health issues and just overall angst, so please avoid this fic if that is not for you! Any upset comments will just be ignored and deleted, thanks!
> 
> Thank you so much to my patron who requested this and allowed me to post it with their permission! They chose to remain anonymous.

Damian’s wound wouldn’t heal. Anytime he moved forward, it reopened, bleeding harder than before. Damian tried to wrap up his bicep as quickly as possible, his movements hastening when he heard the footsteps in the distance growing louder. Tying off the knot with his teeth, Damian knew he’d have to move fast if he had any hope of escaping the blood trail he had left behind. 

He quickly scanned the area around him. He was in the batcave. All around him were shelves, concealing him for the time, but all it would take was for the invader to round the corner and find him. He needed an escape.

Above him was a series of metal bars for the cave’s lighting. He sprung for the rail above him, climbing as fast and silent as possible. He winced to himself as the gash in his arm cried in pain with every movement. He ignored it, climbing up and up, never looking back. Eventually, he leaped across the bars to the cave wall, taking a familiar perch in a notch along the rocks. This was one of his hiding places that he had made for himself since the batcave became part of his home.

_Home._

Damian wrapped his hand tight around his aching wound.

He waited there. The invader drew closer, stepping into the light. The intruder was shorter, younger than Damian. But in every other way, he was Damian, from his thick hair to his feline-like eyes to his stature. The clone—Damian presumed he was a clone, although he supposed alternate dimensions and time travel were not out of the question—was wearing his old uniform, a black and white outfit that Damian hadn’t touched since donning the Robin mantle. That gave him a timestamp. This was him, maybe four years ago, before he was Robin,

When he was still his mother’s puppet. When all he cared about was himself, his goals, and his legacy. When he still killed.

The other Damian suddenly lifted his head, directly in Damian’s direction. Damian’s heart skipped, wondering if he had been spotted. He crouched closer to shadows, hugging the rocky shelf. If they truly were the same person, then that meant they thought alike. Sure enough, Damian’s mirror image began to suspect his location. He moved forward, following the blood trail. He hopped up, hanging off the metal bar with one hand. Damian’s heart was racing now. He had nowhere to escape. His clone seemed ready to climb onto the light fixtures—but then he stopped.

Damian narrowed his eyes, watching closely as his other self turned around. Damian finally realized what he was looking at—Titus emerged from around the corner. Damian adjusted the lenses on his mask, zooming in for a closer look. The great dane’s tail was stiff. Titus must have known something was wrong, maybe from all the commotion during the fight upstairs. 

But instead of running away, Titus drew closer.

Closer to who he believed was his master.

Titus’ black eyes shone with thought and question. His black nose flared, trying to determine the scent.

“Away from me, you useless mutt,” the other Damian said with a flash of teeth.

_No!_ Damian thought when the glint of steel appeared at his other self’s waist. Without thinking, Damian reached for his belt, swinging a batarang. Just as quick, his other self turned, the sword knocking the batarang out of its path. The slice set off the detonator within the batarang, sending the other Damian sprawling backwards and Titus running for the stairs.

Damian did not hesitate, already turning on the offensive. He leapt from his hiding spot, letting his paracape guide him to the ground. He leapt on top of his other self. Damian’s felt his bones rattle at the rough landing. They went rolling onto the ground. Damian gritted his teeth when his injured arm was knocked onto the floor, the invader climbing on top of him. 

“You’re pathetic. Giving away your position because of some—some _pet_?” the clone said, sneering at him. Damian groaned when the clone’s hand dug into his wound, purposefully aiming for his weak spot. Red flashed across Damian’s vision, his arm a searing pain. Damian managed to gain ground, kicking the clone off of him.

The other Damian slid across the floor, gaining enough distance to safely pull out a knife that was strapped to his ankle. Damian managed to draw a long batarang in time for the attack. Metal clashed against metal, the clang sounding off in the air. The weapons pushed against each other in a match of strength. They drew closer, arms straining from the force. Here, Damian’s gaze flickered up at his younger self, noticing the few inches between them.

“_Tt._” And Todd actually had the audacity to say that he hadn’t grown these past few years.

It was difficult to hold onto the batarang with his nondominant arm. It had been awhile since he forced himself to train without it. The other Damian easily knocked the weapon out of his hand. Desperate, Damian rammed forward. His mirror-self grunted when he hit the display case, the glass reverberating from the impact. Grunting, Damian forced them to flip positions. Damian cried out when he hit the glass wall, pain rocketing through his wounded arm in searing heat. Fresh blood sprang to the surface, wetting the bandage.

Damian moved to leave, but a hand slammed on the wall behind him, cutting off his path. Before he could move to the other side, a dagger was brought to his throat, bringing him to a complete stop.

Trapped. Damian swallowed, just barely feeling the blade’s edge graze against his collar. He stared steadily into his own image, green eyes locking into green. The other Damian suddenly smirked cruelly, his gaze dark and his mouth wide.

“I’m disappointed. I thought I would grow stronger, not weaker, with age. Just as I thought—being away from the League would make me soft.”

“No—“Damian said through gritted teeth, and the knife dug into him, close enough to cut.

“I think it’s time we go back to Mother.” There was a dangerous glow in those eyes. Damian believed every threat. “But first, we have to get rid of those attachments that you call _friends_—“

Damian reached out with a speed he didn’t realize he still had. He slammed his other’s face into the glass wall, hearing it crack with a thunder of a noise. Damian took his opening, ducking under the clone’s arm, running for it. He was bleeding hard. His breaths were growing short, his body hot, heart pounding hard. He needed to get away, to recover. Even if he could believe that he would be brought to his mother alive—which he didn’t—he refused to go back. 

He’d never go back.

The clone speared him around his middle, sending them both tumbling, rolling, across the floor. By the time Damian realized where they were headed, he was already rolling underneath the railing, now tilting—_falling—_over the edge of the platform. He tried to grab onto the railing, but to no avail. His hand all but smacked into the steel, the force and weight of the attack knocking both of them down to the level below. Damian cried out when he hit the rocky surface of the cave floor, sharp pain spiking through his whole body, his vision temporarily going black.

He rolled onto his stomach. He pushed himself off the ground, hands and knees digging into the hard and sharp surface—when he was shoved back down. He grunted between his teeth, his cheek scraping against the jagged earth. Weight covered his body, pinning him to the cave floor. Even for Damian’s attuned eyes, it was too dark to see this deep in the cave. He blocked out his confusion and panic, focused on surviving instead.

He squirmed underneath his other self, trying to get free, but he was tired and bleeding. It was getting difficult to keep fighting. Difficult to even concentrate. His heartbeat was pounding through his ears, his head getting fuzzy.

“You’re weak. They made you weak.”

Damian froze in place, his wriggling stop. He breathed hard, his breath hot against the unforgiving ground. The clone laid his body over his, the whispers touching the shell of his ear.

“Let me kill them for you.”

“_No—_“Damian said. He tried to buck up, but his other self just forcefully slammed him back down. Hands came down on each of Damian’s biceps, forcefully pinning them to the ground. Damian clenched his mouth shut, trying not to whine in pain at the small fingers that dug into his bleeding wound.

“You’re better off without them. You’re stronger without them,” his other self murmured, so close that his lips brushed against Damian’s head as he spoke. The clone’s hot breaths marked the trail from Damian’s hair to his throat. Damian’s body burned hot when he felt a tongue lick at the shallow cut he had received earlier from the other’s blade.

Damian’s whole body was tired and exhausted. Still, he moved, but his other’s body was pressed close to his. Every movement just pushed his back against the other’s front. When his other self was through lapping at his cut, he finished with a small kiss.

“Imagine the things we could accomplish together. We could rule the world, just like mother wanted. Just like grandfather planned.”

The voice had so much power, so much seduction. It spoke of the things that Damian had wanted for so long. Had _expected_ for so long. Him, at the top of the world, with no one to stop him. Him, with the approval he never received. 

But still, Damian was unswayed. He didn’t want those things. Not anymore. His stomach twisted with the shame.

“I’ll stop you—“Damian vowed, and was cut off with a hiss. This time, he did not hold back his voice when the other Damian’s hands tightened around his wound, the fingers pressing bruisingly hard into the tender flesh.

“Stop me? Why?” the voice hissed, seething with such rage that Damian could feel his breath catch in his throat. “So you can waste your life in this dump of a city? So you can pretend to be daddy’s boy forever, for some man who never wanted you? You couldn’t stop me even if you tried. You’re soft. Weak. You _can’t_ kill me.”

“You’re right. I can’t,” Damian whispered into the ground. The hands that were pushing, piercing, into his body suddenly stilled. His other self went silent. Waiting.

Damian stared off into the darkness, this numb and heavy feeling sinking into his chest. He kept talking to himself.

“There’s nothing in the world that I want more than to erase you. I want to destroy you, knowing that this world would be better off if you never existed.”

At first, silence. Then, quietly, the small voice spoke back to him, “Then why don’t you?”

“No one but me knows all the horrible things you’ve done. I’m the only one that can love you. At the least, I have to learn to live with you.”

“Who says you have to?” the voice suggested.

Damian paused at that. Maybe he only kept the monster alive because he felt it was the only way to redeem himself. But that didn’t seem right. It wasn’t that Damian felt that he _had_ to, or even that he _wanted_ to. When he thought about everything this person had done, the damage he caused, all he could wonder was about his responsibility and duty. Who would fix this? Who would protect his family? 

More importantly, he made a promise.

“Robin!”

Damian looked out of the corner of his eyes, heart leaping at the familiar voice. He flinched at the strong light that shone down in his direction, hearing the hurried footsteps of his saviors beating towards him. 

Only when he felt the weight of the monster lift off of him did he reopen his eyes to the light.

After Damian’s other self had been captured, the members of the batfamily began to filter out of the room with a new set of tasks. Damian watched them go, sitting on a table with fresh bandages on his body and Titus’ head on his lap. He turned when an elbow gently nudged his good arm.

“So…” Tim said, trailing off, this annoyingly smug look on his face. Damian instantly glowered.

“What do you want from me, Drake? A thank you? A gold star for doing your _job_?”

“No thanks or gold star necessary. It was a pleasure to kick your ass.”

“_Tt. _I suppose it is quite the accomplishment for you. I wonder, do you always feel so proud after defeating a half-beaten child, or do you so seldom taste victory that you act in this manner over every small task?”

“So, you finally admit that you’re a child.”

“Keep gloating, Drake. Heavens knows that you needed this moment.”

Tim walked off to join the others. Shortly after, Dick took his place, hopping up on the table to take a seat next to Damian.

“Are you doing okay?” Dick asked.

“I’m healing,” Damian said stiffly. He paused, growing suspicious over Dick’s inquiry, especially when he wouldn’t leave. His mind travelled back to earlier. Faintly, he could still feel the kiss at his throat. Damian’s cheeks burned. He turned his head away from Dick so that he wouldn’t see. “How much of the fight did you see?”

“Didn’t see much of anything. Not until we got the lights on, anyways.”

“How much did you hear?” Damian said, frowning now.

“Enough,” Dick admitted after a moment. He reached over to pet Titus’ head, who let out a content little huff in response. After a moment, Dick added, “If you ever want to talk, I want to listen.”

Damian bristled defensively. He could tell, in the suggestion of Dick’s lingering presence, that his former mentor wanted to talk now. Damian didn’t know what to say, but he didn’t know how to push Dick away either.

“What I said earlier—I didn’t mean—“Damian stopped himself, flushing slightly. He tried again. “I would never _actually_—“

Damian stopped, giving up, his brows furrowed with frustration. Dick waited patiently for him to continue. When Damian did not, he finally spoke up.

“We’ll always be here to look out for you, Damian.”

“But why?” Damian said, softly now. He turned his gaze up at Dick, suddenly realizing he was afraid of the answer. Dick considered him for a moment, eyes blue and kind, before going back to petting Titus.

“Because we know what you’ve been through. Because through right or wrong, you’re family. And because you’d do the same for us,” Dick said.

Damian felt Dick’s gaze on his injured arm. Damian grasped the wound over the bandages, clean and unmarked. He hadn’t even noticed that it had stopped hurting.

**Author's Note:**

> [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/lacemonsterbats)
> 
> My Discord: lacemonster#3491


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